And he branched away to literature, to music, to sculpture. Lowering his big voice suddenly he spoke of the bronzes of the Naples Museum, half shutting his eyes till they were two narrow slits, and looking intently at Arabian. “You have the throat of one of those bronzes,” he said bluntly, “and should never wear that cursed abomination, a starched linen collar.” “What is one to do in London?” murmured Arabian, suddenly stretching his brown throat and lifting his strong chin. “Show it something worth looking at,” said Garstin. And he returned to the subject of women, and spoke on it so freely and fully that Miss Van Tuyn presently pulled him up. Rather to her surprise he showed unusual meekness under her interruption. “All right, my girl! I’ve done! I’ve done! But I always forget you’re not a young man.” “_Ma foi!_” said Arabian, almost under his breath. Garstin looked across at him “She’s a Tartar. She’d keep the devil himself in order.” “He deserves restraint far less than you do,” said Miss Van Tuyn. “She won’t leave me alone,” continued Garstin, flinging one leg over the arm of his easy chair. “She even attacks me about my painting, says I only paint the rats of the sewers.” “I never said that,” said Miss Van Tuyn. “I said you were a painter of the underworld, and so you are.” “But Mr. Dick Garstin also paints judges, mademoiselle,” said Arabian. “Oh, lord! Drop the Mister! I’m Dick Garstin _tout court_ or I’m nothing. Now, Arabian, you know the reason, part of the reason, why I want to stick you on canvas.” “You mean because--” He seemed to hesitate, and touched his little Guardsman’s moustache. “Because you’re a jolly fine subject and nothing to do with the darlings that live in the sewers.” “Ah! Thank you!” said Arabian. “But you paint judges.” “I only put that red-faced old ruffian here as a joke. Directly I set eyes on him I knew he ought to have been in quod himself! Come now, what do you say? Look here! I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll give you the thing when it’s done.” Miss Van Tuyn looked at Garstin in amazement, and missed the sudden gleam of light that came into Arabian’s eyes. But Garstin did not miss it and repeated: “I’ll give you the thing! Now what do you say? Is it a bargain?” “But how can I accept?” said Arabian, quickly adding: “And how can I refuse? Mr.--” “Drop the Mister, I say.” “Dick Garstin then.” “That’s better.” “I wish to tell you that I am not a connoisseur of art. On the other hand, please, I have an eye for what is fine. Mademoiselle, I hope, will say it is so?” He looked at Miss Van Tuyn. “Mr. Arabian made some remarkably cute remarks about the portraits, Dick,” she said in reply to the glance. “I care for a fine painting so much that really I do not know how to refuse the temptation you offer me--Dick Garstin.” Garstin poured himself out another whisky. “I’ll start on it to-morrow,” he said, staring hard at the man who had now become definitely his subject.